


A Grinning Wolf

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, M/M, Mark of Cain, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wanted him gone. Wanted him as far from the mind of the wolf and the heart of the beast and the itch in his fingertips and the burn on his arm and the godforsaken lust for blood as Castiel could run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grinning Wolf

* * *

 

Drained. That was the only word Dean had for it. His palm slid down the door almost as if to just feel the texture, but it felt like he didn’t; his eyes felt dead and misty as he turned them to stare about his room, lips parted, breathing heavier than it should have been. Inhale, exhale, like his lungs were made of iron - he closed his eyes and stumbled across the room into his bed. He fell heavy into the embrace and found the surface coarse and uncomfortable like a bed of spikes, and his wounds ached and his body ached but most of all it all felt so  _hollow_ , as if he’d stabbed himself in the barn and as if his soul had slipped out of the wound to the dirty floor below.

He barely turned when the knock came. At least he hadn’t expected it.

A bomb, he was; ticking time until the inevitable explosion. His lips barely remembered what a smile felt like when he turned one towards Castiel and the angel responded like he was grinning the bloody grimace of a rabid wolf, mouth still dripping with foam and bloody drool, fangs covered in torn flesh. Panting, panting, panting.

"What’s up?"

The voice didn’t seem to belong to him. Castiel hesitated before closing the door; Dean’s heart skipped beats and then beat them all back at once.

"I know you are tired," the seraph uttered apologetically, "but I wished to exchange some words before I leave."

"Leave where?"

The angel hesitated more.  
"Let’s not talk about that," he finally crossed past the conversation - it didn’t matter.  
Dean wanted him gone. Wanted him as far from the mind of the wolf and the heart of the beast and the itch in his fingertips and the burn on his arm and the godforsaken lust for blood as Castiel could run. He didn’t realise he was still smiling; it was time to change expression, so the corners of his mouth fell unnaturally, and he lifted his body up from the half-leaning pose it had crawled up to.

"So what’s it you wanna talk about, Cas? I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m gonna turn over for like a week. I’m dying."  
Figuratively, literally, it didn’t matter; it was a bit of them both and Castiel knew it. That was why Dean didn’t see a polite smile on him, just hurt crossing through the blue in his eyes.

The older crossed the room and sat on the bed with him, joining their hands although Dean had no intention of returning the gesture. He felt like his fingers no longer responded to him at all, just the bloody brand on him, and that they only worked for death.

"Cas, really, I don’t think I’m in the mood for -"

"Dean, you are human. You are still human."  
Castiel’s eyes were sharp now, almost demanding, about to experience disappointment in desperation. Dean swallowed.  
"Take it out on me. What you feel - I want to understand."

"No," the younger instinctively cut into the sentence, "No, Cas, I can’t. It doesn’t go like that. I can’t go down that way."

"I’m not asking you to carve me up. I’m asking you to let go."

"Well, you’re asking  _too much_.”

They watched one another for a while before Castiel spoke again.  
"Am I?"

Dean’s eyes tracked his skin. The hunter swallowed again, closed his eyes and kept panting. He was too tired, too out of control, too damn dead inside, but…  
"Fuck."  
The next thing he was was a mouth on mouth, nails digging into flesh, popping buttons, tearing cloth; the contained animal in him burst out in the open now that the human in him gave in, and he fell into Castiel whole, biting, sucking, tearing, bruising, holding tightly like the male was the only thing that kept his world from shattering. The bed creaked when he pushed the angel’s body into the mattress, skin on skin soon enough as his own shirt joined the mess on the floor, fingers rubbing raw as he tried to figure out which way the belt bent and where the zipper was and gods damn the fucking buttons on the way; the metal one on his jeans didn’t give in to his tearing and jerking and he almost fell to pieces over that obstacle. With tears in his eyes he shed the clothes - he had a hand over Castiel’s throat, not pressing down but lingering there like he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, as his hips pressed to the half-hard embrace of the older underneath him. He gasped, let out a drawn growl and threw his head back, smelling blood in the air but not sure if it was a hallucination or if he’d broken skin on Castiel, or if he was bleeding from one of his own injuries; he didn’t care, God, he couldn’t care.

His fingertips bent to the sides of the angel, nails dragging red marks across the Enochian tattoo before landing over his pecs instead, and by the time he was scratching down long strikes all over the other’s chest he finally bent over, looked the older in the eye and let a long, scared breath out.

Castiel reached out for him, palm over his cheek.

 _You’re still human_ , he’d said. But Dean didn’t feel that way. The only thing he felt was the curse in his veins, burning like the red in the water of him had turned into molten metal that scorched him and turned him into a weapon instead of a man. His bent back felt as if his spine was turning to spikes, his eyes as if full of black, and he shook as his hips grinded down to the older’s. The whole of him wanted to love the male but he wasn’t sure how to do it anymore: the only thing he saw was Castiel dead by his hands, and he feared that so much it drove out every last feeling of affection from him. He bent over and let out a dry sob, and the angel’s fingers entered his hair to comfort him; there was a pause during which the hunter only rocked gently into the touch of Castiel’s skin underneath him, thick hair prickling his skin and pubic bone digging into his hard length in a throughoutly unpleasant manner on both sides, but through that pause he could feel the smallest spark of hope flash to light within him. He was still in control. The only dead man in the room was him.

"I am here, Dean."

"I know, Cas."

They fell side by side; Dean’s body hit the bed with another creak and he brought his palm over Castiel’s sex, fingers sliding over his flesh and eyes now aimed to his just to see how much the angel enjoed it. It hurt to see the wariness that resided within the older’s gaze but he pushed on, his hand working the best it could to show that yes,  _yes,_  he was still alive and he was still human and this was still them and nothing else even if he couldn’t believe it himself, and slowly Castiel’s lids closed and his mouth opened to make way for his long breaths, and Dean watched him and loved every last sign of life in him that wasn’t full of despair like his own being was. It gave him a moment’s solace; a fraction in time when he wasn’t an empty shell burning to ashes on a pyre.  
He gave in to oblivion when the angel returned the gesture; their strokes were arrhythmic, clumsy, but the pleasure of feeling Castiel’s touch upon his body was real and Dean could feel it pierce through the walls that closed him in from all sides. His body rocked into the touch, the violence in him sated for a moment even though the memory of it never left him, and he felt tears on his face but the relief they brought on was just as real as the sensation of them sliding down his skin.  
He only gasped at climax, body tense and arching, and a distraught little laughter escaped him at feeling Castiel follow him at nothing but the knowledge of him reaching the edge, and his palm cupped the tip of the older’s cock just to feel his release splatter upon him, knowing he was the source of that, a  _pleasure,_ not a curse, even if it was just for this moment. Their bodies curled closer, hands parted only to regain positions over one another’s sides, and their eyes opened to the concern etched in them both. They watched, mapped, then smiled; Dean’s smile was weary and Castiel’s was fragile but it was the sweetest outcome that the younger could have possibly imagined. He didn’t want to close his eyes but he was tired and he was weak, half gone already, when Castiel reached to tug over the bed’s cover to keep him from the cold.

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

The smile on Dean grew wider for a fleeting moment.  
"Could you stay until tomorrow?"

"Of course I would."

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** "After Dean leaves, and Sam tells Cas that he is in trouble, Cas goes to check on Dean and he lets Dean take out his agression on him with some rough sex then fluffy cuteness happens so that both Cas and Dean can feel loved!"
> 
> In other news, I still suck at fluffy cuteness, but damn.


End file.
